Midnight Lullaby
by Dyslexic Angel
Summary: In a city of dreamers, a handful of musicians are looking for someone to put those dreams into words. But apparently good lyricists are hard to come by; the only one with the talent is nobody at all. Eventual Zemyx, slash. AU. Cowritten with Arekuzanra.


_And the words of the profits are written on the subway walls..._ Ienzo glanced over the crudely written words with a touch of amusement at the misspelling, before glancing around the empty subway station. Almost two in the morning, and the last train had left over an hour ago-- the only person here was a security guard, clearly asleep behind the glass of the tiny booth. With a small smile, Ienzo fished around in his bag for a moment before coming up with a long, thin object. After a moment's work he put the object into his pocket and settled down on the plastic bench, pulling his long black winter coat more tightly about his shoulders. Mocking smile still on his face, the lean young man settled in for the long wait until morning. Above him, the graffiti shown brightly where a second hand had added lettering in white-- perhaps a liquid paper pen, like any student might carry_...and tenement halls, and whispered in the sound of finance._

* * *

_Demyx._

_Lead vocals and lead sitar, a position few bands can claim to possess. The charming front man of Oblivion as well as their founder, this young man has a stage presence to rival the greats. As one entered the small, dimly lit room, the eye was immediately drawn to his lean figure and shy smile. If the lead singer is impressive, the music is amazing. Powerful vocals carry over the rich, four-fold sound... in this reporter's opinion, Oblivion has great potential; potential only limited by their lack of original songs..._

"Myde! Customers!" With a small sigh Myde "Demyx" Ashien folded the paper, a student publication, and tucked it behind the coffee machine to retrieve later. He smiled softly as he went to seat the couple who had just slipped in the door of the street-side café At least one reviewer had liked them, though they hadn't been the first to point out the problem with only doing covers. Thinking about it, the article also hadn't mentioned the other members of the band. Axel was going to be livid, Myde though with a smirk. He was in this for the fame... or maybe for one fan in particular.

* * *

"Oi, Lae."

"Axel. How many times do I have to tell you, it's Axel."

"Well soooorr-eeey, I've called you Lae since first grade. Old habits, yanno. Anyway. Axel. Let's start a band!"

"...you must be joking."

"Nope."

"Why would I want to be in a band?"

"Because you'd get to sit up on stage in front of thousands of people who would love and adore you."

"..."

"That freshman you've been stalking thinks drummers are sexy."

"...I don't play drums."

"Dude, it's _drums_. 'What do you call a drummer who can count to eight?' 'Talented!' Remember?"

"Sigh. Where do I get my sticks?"

* * *

Myde almost laughed aloud at the memory. Axel had been going through a dramatic phase, right down to actually _saying _ the word 'sigh'. It surprised Myde slightly that he'd stayed so insistent about his name; but after a while, Axel had stuck. It wasn't the only thing that had changed about the drummer since their meeting.

* * *

First grade wasn't supposed to be socially challenging; when most people think of a young outcast, they picture the teenager picked on in high school. That wasn't always the case. Not that Myde was having any problems; he'd been accepted immediately as "one of the boys" and spent the morning playing soccer and whispering behind the teacher's back. He hadn't noticed the shy boy with the red hair until now-- he was sitting alone, at a table all the way in the back of the small cafeteria. Myde frowned. The boy didn't have any food, and just sat staring at his folded hands.

"Hey guys, I'll be back in a minute." Taking an apple from his own lunch, he walked over to the brooding redhead. "Hey."

The kid looked up, non-comprehension clear on his features. He looked at Myde's face, then at the apple, and warily held out a hand. Myde set the fruit gently in his palm and smiled. "It's the same color as your hair, yanno." He commented. The boy's face lit up with an incandescent smile. "I'm Myde. Wanna come sit with us?" he nodded at the other table.

"Lae." The red-haired boy looked a little wary. "Are you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure! Hey, everybody, this is Lae!"

* * *

Myde closed up for the evening, still musing about his band. That had been a lousy venue, but there wasn't much available for a band that could only play covers... it wasn't the music that was the problem, either, just the _words_. When he'd complained the band, Arlene had just _looked_ at him and said, "Just write what you feel." which was typical Arlene advice-- short, to the point, and not helpful. Which actually described Arlene herself pretty well, thinking about it...

* * *

"You can't kick me out of the band, I _quit!_" the sharp feminine voice rang clearly through the autumn air, followed by a short, lean woman with blond hair plastered down to her skull. Two long tendrils stuck oddly out, resembling nothing so much as antenna and bobbing with the force of her agitation.

She ran smack into Axel. "Get out of my _way!_" she yelled at him, staggering back from the force of the impact.

"Sure, _your majesty!_ But why are you yelling at _me?!"_

"_I don't know!"_

_"So cut it out!"_

_"Maybe I will!"_

Axel and the blond stared at each other for three tense seconds before dissolving into hysterical laughter.

* * *

Myde had never been quite sure how Arlene had wound up in the band, with the stage name of Larxene; he suspected it had something to do with her being the best bassist he'd ever met, but just as much to do with her willingness to stand up to Axel when he was being impossible... a tendency their fourth member, Roxas, was starting to pick up from her.

* * *

It was the coldest autumn on record, heading towards a long, harsh winter. Lae-- Axel, damn it, how could he make other people get it right if he messed up himself?-- hadn't planned to be out walking in the weather, let alone in the fading twilight. Perhaps that was why he took the shortcut through the park; and why the strain of music caught his ear, light and sweet and terribly sad.

Looking around for the source of the music, Lae found a small, delicate young man dressed in clothes a few sizes to big and several too ragged, plucking the strings of a pale guitar. Caught, he wandered closer. Yeah, a twelve-string Ovation in a color so pale as to be almost white, but not as pale as the youth's hand on the fretboard. The teenager came to the end of his song and looked up—revealing eyes the captivating electric blue of summer lightning. Lae's throat went dry.

"Hey, you're really good." he managed in a rough voice. The boy continued to look at him, silently, without blinking. "you here often?" he tried again.

"All this week." the boy smiled, but it was a cold expression. "and probably all of the next, fortune depending." His voice was clear and crisp, with some subtle accent Lae couldn't quite place.

"All this week... like you don't have anywhere else to go?"

"Exactly like." He regarded Lae with perfect calm, and that more than anything made Lae feel rattled.

"Hey, that's rough. I'm Lae, by the way. Actually, I'm trying to get people to call me Axel, but no one ever remembers. Guess I shouldn't expect them too, if I'm messing up too, ya?" Lae was now studying his shoes with great intensity.

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Roxas." His voice was amused. "But what's wrong with being called Lae?" Blue eyes seemed to bore into Lae's own cat-green ones. He looked down at his shoes again.

"Nothing's really wrong with it, I just kinda thought it was time for a change." He shrugged. "You've got some place to stay, right kid? It's gonna be cold tonight." Roxas gestured eloquently at the park around him. _Here_, the gesture seemed to say, _is all. "_Aww, maaaan. You can't stay out here. C'mon, I've got a friend, lives with his uncle, his uncle doesn't care who he brings over so long as no one touches the booze, and Myde would _kill_ me if he found out I just left someone like you out here."

Roxas hopped down from the low wall he'd been using as a bench. "Someone like me?" Lae—Axel, dammit—fixed him with a sidelong stare.

"Cute, smart, and just what we need for the band."

* * *

..._and that_, Myde thought, slipping into his house, _is how I wound up with the most mysterious roommate alive_. Roxas was watching tv as he came in, probably Discovery Channel again. Roxas claimed it made him feel better about having so many holes in his memory, knowing so many useless things. The youth in question gave a half-hearted wave to Myde's greeting, without ever looking away from the screen.

Myde continued on to his room at the back of the house, throwing down his bag just inside the door and sprawling over the bed. Staring at the ceiling, he though more about the band. It really was a problem, that lack of lyrics; he'd tried writing them himself, he'd tried asking Axel and Roxas and even Arlene to try their hands, but none of them had been able to produce anything that they didn't all agree sucked. Tracing outlines like constellations in the cracked ceiling, Myde wondered how they'd ever stay together if they couldn't move forward.

* * *

Myde came awake with jolt, and groaned as the blank book slid off his chest with a thunk. What? That's right, he'd fallen asleep trying to write lyrics. Myde batted half-heartedly at the alarm, only succeeding in knocking the shrill beast into the crack between the dresser and the wall.

"Mrrrflg." Myde said eloquently. "peh." The alarm-clock continued to shriek.

After a grabbing a granola bar on the way out the door, Myde finally managed to get himself fairly awake and headed in the direction of the café It was just after eight o'clock, but the summer sun was already harsh when he moved, blinking, into the cool shadows of the subway station. His eye was caught by a glimpse of white against one wall. Rubbing the spots from his eyes, Myde puzzled out the sloppily written words and laughed aloud. Mangled Simon and Garfunkel lyrics. Myde boarded the train full of hope; at least there was one lyricist in this cursed city.


End file.
